Professor George Ebers, the distinguished Egyptologist, strange to
say, is known in America more by his novels than by his scientific
attainments. He had a severe attack of rheumatism, or something similar,
which confined him to his bed for a long time, but did not prevent him
from using his mind, and during this tedious suffering he undertook, as
I think he himself relates, in the preface of his first novel, to put
into story facts and history with which his mind was so richly stored.
The work grew and fascinated him, and now I dare say it has not only
become remunerative but beguiling. Since the death of Prof. Lepsius, the
distinguished scholar of Egyptian history, George Ebers will doubtless
stand in his stead as the next best informed man in Germany, on Egypt.
The deceased Lepsius thought highly of one of our countrymen, Dr. Joseph
P. Thompson, as a successful student under him, and here we pay a tribute
of respect to this generous man who never failed to escort party after
party of Americans through the Egyptian department of the Berlin Museum,
explaining the tombs and reading the inscriptions. “The Egyptian King’s
Daughter” is the title of Ebers’s most elaborate novel, and if one is
disposed to read it carefully and observe all the foot-notes, there is
quite a chance for the reader to feel delighted with himself for all he
can acquire in this way about Egypt, and to have an inexpressible longing
for more. And what a power of enchanting one these Egyptians have, with
their gloomy and mystified learning, and their frequent contemplation of
death. To give the reader an idea of Ebers’s style, in romance writing
and subject matter, we quote what accurate pictures he gives of all the
state of affairs in Egypt. Speaking of the schools or universities,
in his novel entitled “Uarda,” he says: “The lower school was open to
every son of a free citizen, and was often frequented by several hundred
boys, who also found night quarters there. The parents were, of course,
required either to pay for their maintenance or to send due supplies of
provision for the keep of their children at school. This university, or
school, was connected with the House of Seti, or one of the sanctuaries
of the Necropolis, founded by Rameses I, and carried on by his son
Seti. High festivals were held there in honor of the god of the gods of
the under world. This extensive building was intended to be equal to
the great original foundations of priestly learning at Heliopolis and
Memphis; they were regulated on the same pattern, and with the object
of raising the royal residence of Upper Egypt, namely, Thebes, above
the capitals of Lower Egypt, in regard to philosophical distinction.”
“Many proficient in the healing art,” he tells us, “were brought up in
the house of Seti, but few need to remain after passing the examination
of the degree of Scribe. The most gifted were sent to Heliopolis, where
flourished in the great “Hall of the Ancients,” the most celebrated
medical faculty of the whole country, whence they returned to Thebes,
endowed with the highest honors in surgery, in ocular treatment, or in
any other branch of their profession, and became physicians to the king,
or made a living by imparting their learning, and by being called in
to consult on serious cases.” From this short extract from Ebers any
one can see that he treats his situations, although lying so remote in
history, in the most simple and natural manner. Egypt, with her enormous
architecture, her ponderous institutions, peculiar beliefs and somber,
heated atmosphere, is not to him the dark “sorceress of the Nile,” but a
real, breathing and tangible thing—he has so seriously studied her that
he writes of her as he would of a familiar friend in whom he is intensely
interested.
Ebers not alone excels in historical pictures and accurate descriptions,
but he has, as a novelist, much feeling, and makes clear comments on
human nature—for example, in writing of Nebsecht, the learned surgeon,
in his novel “Uarda,” he says: “Nebsecht was of the silent, reserved
nature of the learned man, who, free from all desire of external
recognition, finds a rich satisfaction in the delights of investigation;
and he regarded every demand on him to give proof of his capacity, as a
vexatious but unavoidable intrusion on his unanswering but laborious and
faithful investigations.” Then he remarks Nebsecht loved Pentaur, who
possessed all the gifts he lacked, manly beauty, child-like lightness of
heart, the frankest openness, artistic power, and the gift of expressing
in word and song every emotion that stirred his soul.
Again, behold the picture or a glimpse into a feast of the best
Egyptians. In an open court, surrounded by gaily painted wooden pillars,
and lighted by many lamps, sat the feasting priests in two long rows, on
comfortable arm chairs. Before each stood a little table, and servants
were occupied in supplying them with the dishes and drinks which were
laid out on a splendid table in the middle of the court. Joints of
gazelle, roasted geese and ducks, meat pasties, artichokes, asparagus,
and other vegetables and various cakes and sweet-meats were carried to
the guests, and their beakers well filled with the choice wines of which
there was never a lack in the lofts of the house of Seti. In the spaces
between the guests stood servants with metal bowls, in which they might
wash their hands, and towels of fine linen.
“Tante Therese,” a drama in four acts by Paul Lindau, is a cleverly
conceived and brightly written thing, showing that the writer is full of
pathos and wit. The audience cried and laughed and applauded the first
night it was given in Berlin. In fact, Lindau is so sharp a critic and
so talented a writer, that, as editor of _Die Gegenwart_, a neat and
pungent weekly, he was a great potentate in Berlin society. His pen
spared no one—musician, artist, soldier—and even royalty fell under
its point if he, Lindau, was not in sympathy with their productions or
actions. He is the life of a dinner party, the most interested musician
and art connoisseur, and among journalists and in the literary coterie
he is the star which lights or exposes the objects around. His reviews
in _Die Gegenwart_ (The Present) are somewhat after the matter of the
reviews in _The Nation_—a little pessimistic or hypercritical, but always
accomplishing their object, and whatever comes from his pen is looked
for with eagerness. With a lovely home, and a beautiful young wife to do
its honors, he attracts about him many brilliant companies. He was once
thrown into prison for having written something which was not prudent in
regard to government matters—the press being not so free in Germany, as
the reader will observe, as in this country.
Dr. Julius Rodenburg, editor of _Die Rundschau_, is of Jewish extraction,
resembling Felix Mendelssohn so much that one must immediately remark
it. As Mendelssohn was also a Jew, the association seems to grow more
intimate in one’s mind, as an acquaintance with this light-hearted,
spirited man progresses. He seems never to be weary—the world and his
friend have a charm for him, and he and his intelligent wife know well
how to attract them to their weekly receptions. They both speak English
well, and have spent some time in England. He has published a little book
entitled “Ferien in England”—Vacation in England.
Sometimes he comes out in his review, which corresponds to our _Atlantic
Monthly_, with learned and elaborate articles, but his time is, as
editor, consumed with other people’s productions. Editors of papers and
presidents of colleges have little time for anything but reflection upon
the merits or demerits of others.
Ferdinand Gregorovius, half German and half Italian, has published four
volumes of the “History of Rome,” also in 1874 a very attractive volume
on “Lucrezia Borgia.” In the back of the book appears a _fac-simile_
letter from Pope Alexander IV. to Lucrezia, and one of hers to Isabella
Gonzogo—most curious documents.
Dr. Friedrich Kapp, who came to America when Carl Schurz did, returned
after a short residence and entered political life in his own country.
Beyond his exertion in this direction he has found time for considerable
literary work; has edited the “Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin,”
which contains a preface by Berthold Auerbach. Dr. Kapp is better known,
perhaps, through the press, than through his books.
Adolf Stahr, in his book on Goethe’s “Frauengestalten,” or female
characters, gives a close analysis, and if the same theme has been
written and rewritten upon as all Goethe’s productions have, Stahr
maintains a dignified review, as if he were surveying the subjects for
the first time. His wife, who is a novelist, is equally literary, and
the two old people have grown beautiful in common sympathy in their
winter work and summer resorts. She attracts more attention than he at a
fashionable watering place, but one is the accompaniment of the other,
and both have done honest, good work.